Fate: A verbis ad verbera
by Viker
Summary: An original story based on Fate Stay Night. It is 36 B.A. and another Holy Grail War has commenced. The natural balance has been thrown off now that there are 9 Masters and Servants. Can love, pain, and betrayal coexist? A MasterXServant story.


**Fate/A verbis ad verbera** (From Words to Blows)

**Chapter One**

Life comes now in chaos.

At first it came in small doses, strictly after meals, on a full stomach, but then it arrived in bursts; explosions. Fragments of emotions and bodies were the evidences that showed the world was slowing coming to an end. Ninety-nine seconds to midnight and everyone was on the edge, hanging by the marrows of their bones.

The notion of realistic thinking was diminished under the pressuring fists of fantasy. The two blurred and blended together, resulting in a revolting corpus of disfigured sanities. Time was strained down a tube. Every frantic drop of it only sucked up by a darker force.

There wasn't enough of it. Drained, like the hope and rational of humanity.

It started and ended with the words, "Let it consume me."

Spring 36 B.A.

Sixteen-year-old, Yuhara Yukiko, clutched the chains burning into her wrists desperately. The wild and glazed expression of her uncle set off her heart rate and she her intake of oxygen was in short, frantic breaths. The hysterical man before her was Yuhara Takeshi. Kneading his right fist into his other hand, streaks of dark red blood ran across his palm. However, the smudges of crimson were not without meaning. The Japanese character for "death" trickled down his forearm.

His intentions were so clear to Yukiko. She wanted to accept his decision, too. Everything seemed to make so much sense; this was the only way.

But she didn't want to die and especially not like this.

An ominous pink glow replaced the bloody character and her uncle Takeshi gripped his left wrist and pointed his splayed hand at her. The trademark yellow feather-shaped scar surfaced onto his left cheek and he clenched his teeth together, attempting to control the ancient power that resided in the Yuhara blood. Yukiko bit her lip, drawing blood.

If her uncle Takeshi was going to use It then at least she could…

A sudden flash was exchanged and Yukiko felt her recovery spell being nullified. Takeshi's head inclined slightly, as if in regret, but she couldn't tell behind the haphazard expression that he wore.

A moment of understanding coursed between the two. Yukiko saw a flicker of some shadowed emotion behind her uncle's chestnut eyes, but couldn't catch it and neither did her uncle. He wasn't going to let her go this time.

"Let it consume me," Yukiko whispered, breaking the eye contact.

There was a stifling fear in her gaze and it showed itself well; a bright splotch against her brown eyes. Whatever was left of her dignity, kept her from showing her dread to her murder, who was ironically her uncle.

A ball of crackling white light formed at her uncle's palm and he shut his eyes. A bone-shattering wail followed soon after. He appeared to be grasping the actuality of what he was about to do.

It almost seemed silent, albeit the shrill cry of death coming from the force at Takeshi's finger tips, but Yukiko couldn't even take a second to pray. This unconquerable fate of end filled her mind and nothing else could get through. With her body numb and her senses dull, she turned away submissively. She refused to witness her own death.

A silvery-blue blade caught her eyes, though her vision was erratic and found it hard to truly concentrate. Etched on the side of its hilt was, "Worth dying for."

"Ken, I'm sorry" Yukiko heard her uncle muttering. "I'm so sorry. I heard you, I did, but I don't know. I can't do anything right."

And with a haggard gasp from Takeshi, an unearthly yellow light filled the room.

Yukiko, her last feeling being the metal searing into her flesh, tilted her head upwards in a final relenting position. Finally, her obscured vision caught sight of the bamboo clock hanging on the wall.

_Time of death, Nine-thirty nine._

Autumn 36 B.A.

Kamiyoto, in the heart of what used to be Northern China, was greeted by an abnormally heartening bustle in its organized business district. This moderately proportioned section was unaccustomed to the crowds of tourists that had suddenly appeared at the beginning of the Spring cycle. People of all different ethnics and backgrounds filled the streets to the brim, giving off an inevitable nostalgia of the previous Age, the Common Era or to the influential Christian denominations, the Age After Death.

Kamiyoto had striking similarities with its Japanese counterparts, such as Tokyo and Kyoto, but as a result of the flood of the various cultures, the evidence was tightly hidden. Had the President managed to conquer the Southern region of old Asia and its economic riches then perhaps Elysium's capital would actually flourish and fill the vast and empty lands with some sort of wealth.

Unbeknownst to the city, though, an age-old war had materialized and made its place of battle in the so-called "New New York" of Elysium. And Fate, as it sometimes sets up its playing board, had offered the holy tournament a source of replenishment in the shape of tourists.

Laine Lynch, a foreigner from the Imperialist Colonies to the West, glanced nervously over her shoulder. She could feel the polluting qualities of a murderous intent and covered her mouth with a cold, clammy hand. It wasn't close enough to be considered an immediate threat, however, any distance between such an abominable motive could never calm Laine's jittery nature.

The young blond-haired woman picked her way through the congested sidewalk as casually as her personality allowed. The downtown district of Kamiyoto was too tremendously packed to let the maximum potential of her acute senses to work properly. Her surroundings circulated sweet aromas of baked goods and body soaps…

Laine abruptly halted her tiny steps.

"What is it?" she heard the rumbling voice of her Servant ask.

"Nothing," she replied.

Funny, she thought to herself, for a second I thought I smelled blood.

A silver glint at the corner of Laine's eye forced another litre of sweat down her back and she paused again, gripping her hands against her chest. It had been a blinding glimmer, but it wasn't graceful and fleeting like from sunlight bouncing off a lake. It was threatening and held a gutsy glow. It was as if whoever that was doing this wanted it to be seen.

A terror washed over Laine instantly. She shook her trembling right fist in front of her face, a gesture to overpower her constant phobia of the natural world.

And then the glint came again, but this time it was brighter and even more imposing.

"Laine!" came an urgent voice.

The young woman was already on it, sprinting through the throng, her rose-colored floral sundress was graceful wake that trailed after her. The murderous intent was growing more menacing, as Laine swerved into an alleyway. Her right hand was still clamped tightly in front of her chest as she ran.

"Archer!" she cried, frantically. "Archer! They're coming!"

A cream-cloaked figure materialized beside his Master, his fiery red hair almost lighting up the sun-forsaken corridors. He took Laine's hand, jumping, and swiftly carried her over an iron fence. Archer, took a second to glance over his shoulder, and she saw his eyes widen anxiously. He propelled her towards the floor and sent a gust of wind after her. Between the grey wisps of wind, she saw Archer shatter a pointed blue crystal with his flame-engulfed hands.

The wind padded her decent and set her gently onto the ground. From about twelve feet away, Archer was engaged in a battle against a terrible unseen force. His movements were obviously hindered by a wound he had sustained yesterday night by the winged Servant at _Le Jardin_. He laboriously defended against bursts of blue using only his fists.

Whichever Servant that was fighting him probably knew he was of the Archer-class and had most likely lured them into this enclosed alleyway on purpose.

"To the roof!" Laine shouted, her fear was evident in her shaking voice. "You can outrun him and -"

A strangled squeak escaped from Laine's throat and she painfully lowered herself onto her knees. A green vine had encircled around her neck and she clutched onto it, hoping that her feeble little hands could somehow loosen its death grip.

"Relinquish your command spells, Miss Lynch," a sly male voice told her. "Or else I will make Lancer carve it off you."

Spring 36 B.A.

Yuhara Takeshi eyes shot wide open, his mouth open as if admitting a silent scream. His entire body shook violently and he gaped at his hands.

The Yuhara manor had resonated with his niece's painful cry before it was silenced only seconds later. Only the sounds of crickets played through the building. The manor continued sitting in the darkness like nothing of the sadistic sort had come to pass. The bamboo walls hummed with the wretched truth and Takeshi sank to his knees.

A trail of blood trickled down his leg.

He had killed Yukiko. He had consciously put an end to his older brother's daughter.

His body continued to incline towards the ground.

"Yuhara," a daunting whisper grazed his ears. "Yuhara Takeshi."

The dishevelled forty-year-old man clasped the enchanted dagger hanging at his belt. An intense trembling ran through his body and with a strained noise in his throat, he retched and ruby fluid splattered over the floor. Takeshi's expression was distant and he lethargically tilted his head.

The silence resumed its place in the living room. Only the sound of his own anxious breath rang in his ears.

Beside him was blond-haired man resting on one knee, the rest of his body concealed under a navy hooded-cloak. His unruly, porcupine-like hair seemed to glisten in the moonlight that had managed to force its way through the tyrannous Banyan trees. The scent of blood constricted Takeshi's senses.

The blond man saw the corner of his mouth curve upwards in a regretful smile.

"You don't understand what you've done," came the threatening murmur. "Yuhara Ken-"

"Yuhara Ken is dead," the defiant male voice interrupted.

"I wanted to save the Yuhara Lineage," Takeshi gasped, laboriously. "There was no other-"

"Do it."

With his last strangled cry, Takeshi collapsed face-first onto the floor of the living room. A horrified expression was permanently fixed on his lined face. The blood flowed unheedingly out of the wound on his back.

The cloaked man rose to his feet and stabbed his familiar sea-coloured blade into the wooden floor.

"Is this what I want?" a hunched figure, who was sitting idly in a puddle of blood, inquired softly.

"Would you have preferred otherwise?" the towering man tore off his navy coat and draped it around the small, huddled mass.

Underneath it revealed a string of silver chains that weaved itself around his body over a midnight blue tank top. His thick legs were hidden beneath loose-fitting black pants that resembled the bottom half of a Greek toga.

"If I agree," a dry cough wracked the bundled body. "Would you be the one to do the deed?"

"Only if you command me forcibly," he replied flatly.

"Why?"

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, weighing how little he could say to keep the conversation relevant.

"Could a dead man win a battle?"

"No," the figure straightened up a bit and brushed aside the matted hair that covered its features, revealing a single yellow-tinted eye. "But I could make it happen."

Autumn 45 B.A.

A teenaged girl with ebony locks leaned nonchalantly against the wall of a pub. The sign hanging over the cedar door read, "The Glorious Elephant" in bold letters and she smirked, the rest of her features hidden beneath her lengthy side-swept bangs.

She wiped the backside of her hand against her lips, glancing up at the position of the sun. Taking a quick whiff of the air, she could smell freshly spilled blood. She warily adjusted her vision to her right sight and caught sight of a clash of blue and red that glistened between the subtle cracks that divided the lofty industrial buildings.

From within the pub, there came an alarmed holler and the crash of bottles and metal against metal came soon after. However, the racket only lasted a single moment and from behind her emerged a blond-haired man.

"Slayer," the girl acknowledged.

"There was two from the list and one that we didn't expect," he answered as curtly as she had asked.

She smiled and pointed a finger in the direction of the present battle.

"Archer is over there," and with a quick brush of her hand across her face, she revealed a set of yellow eyes. "and so is Lancer."

"I can't see her," the Servant frowned, impatiently.

"Of course not," she allowed the black curtain of hair back down. "She's smart. You should learn."

With a disdainful snort, Slayer jumped several feet into the air, pulling his Master with him.

"Then you'll be my eyes-" and with a sudden burst, a pair of skyblue wings appeared on his back. "Yukiko."

* * *

Let's be honest, we all knew she was alive. We wouldn't have much of a story if she wasn't. Lots of kinKAY...I mean...intense goodness soon to come. 


End file.
